It's as if not a single person's life is truly in tuned with Earth. No one person was created to stay here forever. Not really. Our spirits leave our bodies as if there was never a force holding them inside. One second gravity is more intense than the weight of emotions and the fear of no longer being. The next second, we are floating away as if we were never supposed to be what we were. As if we never really were.
How does it happen? How can a soul or a spirit just leave a body like that? How can a person be smiling, so full of life, and then suddenly be so vacant, as if the body was always an empty vessel? It's a horrible sight, to see the body of your friend lying in a box, knowing that in mere minutes, the vacant body will be out of sight, but never out of mind.
That image . . . it truly stays with a living person, until their souls depart as well. Then, I would imagine, all is forgotten. As if we never were truly a part this world. And sometimes, when you experience the loss of your friends' souls enough times, you begin to wish that your soul could float away as well.
When I was told the news, the news that my sister, my only sister, was gone, I felt numb. I could never express my feelings to my husband. Oh no! He would surely cut off my head and hang it on a mantel above the fireplace. A true trophy wife. Psh!
No. I went off by myself, sat in silent solitude, and waited for the grief, the tears, and anger, anything. Nothing. I felt nothing. How could I? We were enemies, but we were once best friends. We loved each other with such intensity! Those days were the days of dreams.
I could not cry over her death, but I could cry over the lost memories of our childhood. And I did. I cried my bleeding heart out, because she was gone, as was all chance of reconciliation. Her soul and the soul of her retched husband were gone! Good riddance to him! Hell can have his soul, because truly that is where he must be now! Evil! He corrupted my younger sister!
I'm lying. It wasn't that man that corrupted my baby sister, but that greasy haired boy. If not for him then my sister would have been normal. She would still be alive! It was his fault that her soul is no more.
I've lost people, and I know that my sister lost more. She sent me letters. Many, many letters. I never replied. Why should I? I was supposed to hate her. She told me of the death of her friends, and about her husband, her child, and herself going into hiding. Her letters were stained with tears, her handwriting nearly illegible. Her sorrow and joy, anger and excitement were all so obvious in every letter that she wrote. She always was an open book.
After the letter of her plan to go into hiding, I didn't hear from her again. The letters stopped, leaving me in peace. As much as I hated her letters, I loved them. They let me know that she was alive and overall, well. I didn't think much of the lack of communication though. I simply thought that she had finally given up on me.
That wasn't the case. She was preoccupied with trying to keep her family alive, and in the end, she gave up her own life for her child. I can understand. I would give up my life for my child any day. Still, her soul, it gave meaning to the words that she wrote. Once her soul was gone and her body was vacant, it seemed as if the emotion written on those pieces of parchment meant nothing. They were meaningless.